The local creek winks in the midday sun, beaconing us
to silently slip our barefoot feet into its cool.
We wait on the grey-brown crayfish to appear;
their bluish-gray pinchers raised, ready to do battle.

Carefully, we cup our fingers behind them,
along the clear water’s surface in wait,
as each scoot backward into our human nets,
clawing for release, we earn our battle wounds.

Midday comes too soon as we break out our bag lunches,
and we devour our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
We lie on the creek bank and close our eyes
as the August sun lulls us into a late summer bliss.